Godwin Inyang's Blog, page 26

126You can picture how lividHe was if you add a stringOf obscenities (the languageHe actually used).He strode to the door,Flung it open – ordered his boysTo strip my girl if the cameraTo give she refused.As they moved towards her withTheir bulging tattooed arms – ‘Action!’ I said and furiouslyGot out of my pouch.I was sure by the timeI was through with every lout,He would hurriedly limpAway with a slouch.
127‘Hold it!’ the boss holleredGruffly from behindHis bloodthirsty henchmen.‘Miss Lib Freegate,I said no hanky-panky. Now,All your hidden gadgets orForcefully we’ll get them!’‘I don’t have a camera,’My girl said flatly.‘These days there areMore ways to take pictures.With some device,The amateur is as good asA professional dependingOn its high-tech features.’
128‘Quit!’ the boss, asAn afterthought,Commanded his boysWho were raring to go.He gestured the thugsTo leave – I snappedA finger on a toothFor another halted show.‘I want to believeYou’re saying the truth,’Bulldog Winch’sTone was softly now.‘Eat and later we wouldTalk more,’ he said,Left and soon afterA tray was put down.
129My girl was stillSitting and clutchingThe table and havingA conversation with me.It was a telepathic chat(We feared being watched) –She said something that beat me.She was scared atThe thought of three menStripping her and anotherStanding by to watch.She then revealed to meShe had a cyanide pillAnd was readyTo take it in a rush.
130I told her soldier antsDon’t harbour at allThe thought of suicide.It is this life we know of(To exist as an entity isA marvel), so whyRush to the other side?We must brave it,Fight gallantly toA logical conclusion.We were put hereFor a grand purpose,So we shouldn’t veer fromThat final destination.

121‘Tell your editor,’ he went on,‘He had been trying to ruinMy long chain of businesses.He had used you but I wouldPut you out of the way,Not in death, as wineAnd women are my weaknesses.’He laughed. ‘I’d put youWhere you’d be more usefulAs nature has endowed you;Not poking nose where it’sNone of your concernAnd making real men quite blue.
122‘Tell your editorHis snoopy game is over –In fact, he shouldStop sniffing my rear end.Tell him Bulldog WinchOwns a business empireThat from Atlantic toPacific does extend.’My girl did as biddenAnd nervously spoke intoThe satellite phone:‘Bob, I’d been kidnapped!’She was about toAdd something whenShe heard: ‘Gimme the phone!’Bulldog Winch snapped.
123‘To add to what Miss Lib FreegateHas just told you,She would be safe,’The boss gloatingly said,‘If only you’d stopSneaking and tryingTo smear our image.Know where you tread,’The boss added, ‘orWe would send backTo you her beautiful headIn a goddamn suitcase!’He switched off the phone;Then said: ‘Long as you’reReady to play my game, yourGreat frame won’t go to waste!
124‘You see we’ve been gentlemanlyAll along – we’ve not strippedYou of anythingWithout your knowledge.Right now, I’d askYou questions and I needStraightforward answers;No worry or bondageIf the answers I get are true –Indeed that wouldMean you are safeAnd we’d give you a home:You’ll be fine –You’ll choose your food;You’ll get your lipstickAs well as your comb.
125‘Agreed?’ Bulldog WinchAsked at last asMy girl nodded inAbsolute agreement.‘You have with youA hidden camera?’He said; my girl wasLeft in astonishment.I told her to say noAnd she did; the bossFrom his countenanceWas infuriated.‘No games! Seeing tomorrowWould be a mere wish if youFool around with me!’He insinuated.

 {SUNUP}Someone somewhere is duped by con artist;A gangster shot another gangster deadAs a wife murdered her husband in bed;Then tale of a kidnapper and rapist...
[No, the newscaster's not through with the list!]Bird flu, earthquake, suicide bombers, air raid;Aids, prostitution rings and their trade...[Below, the newsreader says, is more gist:]
An elected governor caught in LondonWith our stolen cash in his private safe;Unemployed graduate pretends dumb and deaf...[The reader is yet with his news not done!]
Clash of religions; Palestine and Jews:A big threat to world peace? I seek your views.
{NOON}Yes, you had received the news at dawn;Now, the reader serves you the part at noon:Over-zealous Muslims kill Christians over cartoon;US and terrorists at daggers drawn;
Tot stolen from cradle in parents' lawn;Nuclear materials in hands of a loon;Another genocide in Africa soon?Who, for Christ's sake, would rub a nun!
Hole keeps deepening at ozone layer;Man marries dog, woman weds woman;Gay consecrated as reverend gentleman;Pop star abused a child and ends in slammer.
Please stay glued to your communication setAs fresh package at sunset you'd get.
{SUNDOWN}Welcome to our daily news, last segment:Famine inside Ethiopia, war at the border;Tsunami toll makes the whole world shudder;Sportsman banned for life for drug infringement;
Principal impregnates female student;[Don't touch the dial, the reader goes further:]Riots in schools as pupils attack one another;Did we sight in the skies an alien movement?
With twenty million you're a tourist to spaceWhere you can stare down at your hungry brothers;And emerging straight from medical covers –Genetics is set to breed a super race!
[We rest our case though not yet the end;Further developments to your e-box we'd send.]

POSTSCRIPT: The piece above is taken from my big collection of poems (105 in total), 'COLOURS (OF LIFE, LOVE AND FAITH)' just out as Kindle ebook and paperback.
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07N8F9YL6/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i3

116My girl stirred afterNoon and I was happy,In fact ‘elated’,The apt word should be.To my CreatorI bowed my headAnd greatly thanked him,Bending my every knee.My sweet experienceWas nothing short ofThat moment, the Holy BookPromises, will take placeWhere those alive will meetTheir dead loved ones inA joyous and warm embrace.
117Whatever your opinion,You’re entitled to itAnd I am entitledEqually to airing mine.You may be kickingAgainst my idea ofA Creator because you thinkYou’re a piece of grime.The intricacy ofMy small frame ICertainly know I didn’tJust stumble upon.A Master MindCreated the mechanics,Apportioned them functionsAnd tasks under the sun.
118I believe in GodAnd in science butScience (just as religion) hasMangled and flawed pages:Theories, laws, propheciesAnd ‘truths’ they’ve allBombarded us withAll through the ages.In religion, some small godsAre telling us they’reThe supreme CreatorAnd science, with the missing linkAnd other inconsistencies, triesTo lord it over usAs a dictator.
119Anyway, I was joyousSeeing my girl stirredAnd I got connected.I told her not to vocalize her thoughts;Then narrated everythingThat had happenedSince she was abducted.As she rolled onThe bed, checking herself –Seeing she wasSurprisingly intact, got up:She retrieved her phone,Switched it on butThe click in the keyholeMade her the program run to stop.
120The boss came in, said: ‘You canMake your one last callTo your chief editorAnd tell him where you are.’He switched on the lightAnd the movementsOutside showed some boysWere around not too far.‘Please,’ my girl said,‘May I know where I amAnd who I am chatting with?’The boss laughed outTriumphantly and replied:‘Do you grab a cobra and thenAsk what you’re playing with?’

Just hang on till your dream does click.

Attack it with all your mind and might.

Nurture it with passion and care

Until it hatches into reality's chick.

Accept failure but change not the dream you bear;

Resolve to carry your very dream to light.

You surely success' lollipop would lick.

Writer’s block (as defined by the Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary) is ‘a problem that writers sometimes have when they cannot think of what to write and have no new ideas.’

A firm that had been producing goods for public consumption which brought income to maintain the factory and pay the employees is not doing that anymore because of lack of raw materials. It’s either management would

It is midday and the sun is
high up and we are under the shade of a mango tree laden with unripe fruits,
sitting on a heap of sand and blocks, eating and chatting.

What
I and his family eat is not what my friend is eating. He eats beans with boiled
unripe plantain while we are rolling balls of fufu, generously grace them with creamy afang soup and
then swallow.

‘Akpaneka
is dead,’ Nsima

When
I took the dose prescribed, I would feel sleepy and had this tranquil feeling
after waking up from sleep. I knew of the three sets of medicine I was given: the white was for pain, the red I suspected was vitamin supplements but the
yellow with 5 printed on it I thought must be responsible for my sleepiness.
But the tranquility would only last for a short span of time after I woke and
the

CHAPTER TWO

I had returned a year and
five months ago to realize while I was out there in other towns and states
chasing money, money was here in my state and town chasing the people. Coming
back and going out visiting old friends and looking for jobs; the excellent
roads, the imposing edifices in nooks you would never expect to see such and
the bulky frames of people in my hometown

I am playing around with my
pen and laptop, hoping my mind would stumble on an idea that would help me
write myself to fame. I had heard people saying they would rather be rich than
famous (and poor, of course they mean). But that line of thought beats me. I do
not see how I can be famous and then poor except in a situation after getting
the fame, making the dough and then I just squander it.